Baked Goods
by High-Functioning Ginger
Summary: A pointlessly fluffy one shot in which John, Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock bake, have a food fight and interact like the strange little family that they are.Just for fun really. Very light slash towards the end - can be read as friendship fic if you like.


_**AN: This really has no point to it at all. Just some plotless fluff. I was baking this morning and thought John and Sherlock shouldn't be left out. Tossed Mrs. Hudson in there because I adore her and the boys together as the strange little family that they are. Also managed to write something that can be taken as close friendship or slash (except for a tiny little bit towards the very end) – that's a first!**_

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes. That honor belongs to John Watson.**

"John, why has our flat suddenly taken on the aroma of a bakery?" Sherlock calls as he enters the flat after a morning at the lab.

He hangs his scarf and coat, sniffing disdainfully as if to emphasize his question. It is in vain however, as John is in the kitchen, rummaging through paper grocery bags scattered across the counter.

Mrs. Hudson is also there, stirring an unidentifiable tanish substance and directing John towards whatever he's looking for.

Sherlock's entrance goes unnoticed as he saunters in, leaning casually against the doorframe. "I take it you didn't hear my question over the din of Mrs. Hudson's chatter?" he inquires, focusing his attention on John.

John's head snaps over towards the direction of his voice and his startled face breaks into an easy grin. "Oh, hey Sherlock. Didn't know you were home. Enjoy yourself?" he asks, handing Mrs. Hudson the bag of chocolate chips that he'd been seeking.

Sherlock lets out a soft sigh of exasperation and repeats his earlier question "I'll answer your question once you've answered mine. Why does our flat smell like a bakery?"

John responds with a broad sweeping hand, gesturing to baked good in various stages of completion. Sherlock snorts, to show that he understands the source of the aroma, just not the purpose behind it all.

John shrugs and answers "Personally I prefer it to our flat smelling like a firing range or science lab."

Sherlock scoffs at this, arguing. "I have a purpose behind my actions. What is yours?"

"Well we're making scones and biscuits, dear." Mrs. Hudson cut in. "John used to bake with his grandmother, especially in the winter and he was missing her this morning, so I offered." she explains, giving John a quick smile before returning to sifting flour.

Sherlock opens his mouth, brow slightly furrowed in confusion, but John cuts him off with a look that asks him to just go along with it.

He shrugs to himself, conceding and wanders into the living room, collapsing upon the couch to sort through the results from his morning and file them away in his Mind Palace.

The din from the kitchen is far too distracting though. Bowls clattering as they're moved, spoon tapping against the sides of aforementioned bowls. Cabinets opening and closing, feet pattering and of course Mrs. Hudson and John rambling on about inane nonsense and laughing at poor jokes.

"I can't think!" he snaps finally, breaking through the merry din.

John calls back in response "Good! About time you gave yourself a rest."

Sherlock gives a vexed scoff, though is doubtful that John can hear it. Mrs. Hudson calls in "Why don't you join us? We could use an extra hand, deary."

Sherlock rolls off the couch, steps over the coffee table and enters the kitchen in one fluid movement. John gives him a surprised grin at his apparent agreement to assist.

"I will happily assist you in moving your baking to Mrs. Hudson's flat." he offers and John's smile falls. "Her kitchen is too small. Stop being a git." he reprimands and returns to measuring ingredients.

"Do you two do anything other than bicker?" Mrs. Hudson questions, with a fond smile.

John makes a display of chewing his lip as if he's deep in thought about the question.

Sherlock lets out an unnecessarily loud sigh of exasperation and answers "Of course. We work, we converse on a variety of subjects, and we fill out police reports, we-"

"Yeah, I think she gets the idea Sherlock." John says, cutting him off with.

"Just making a point." he responds.

"Well instead of standing there making 'points' why don't you chop up some nuts?" Mrs. Hudson breaks in, gesturing to a bag of walnuts.

"What is the point of this? Couldn't you just purchase these items at Tesco or a local bakery?" he inquires, ignoring her request.

John nods and answers "We could. But this is more fun."

"Fun?" Sherlock inquires, as if the idea is ridiculous.

"Yeah. Don't tell me you've never baked something." John tosses back.

Sherlock pauses in thought for a moment before answering "Once. I was seven at the time and Mycroft and I baked a cake for our father's birthday. He refused to eat it, as it looked rather revolting. I have to agree, we practically drowned it in chocolate syrup."

This silenced John for a moment. "Oh, so you - uh - you never baked again?" he asked sympathetically.

"John, don't attempt to sentimentalize my disinterest in baking." Sherlock scoffs at his tone. "It has nothing to do with my father. I was disappointed at the time, not in his reaction as I would expect nothing less, but in my own shortcomings. I'm accustomed to being good at everything and cooking is simply chemistry. However I must've had some miscalculation in the process. I was never allowed in the kitchen again."

"You were banned from the kitchen for baking one bad cake?" John asks incredulously.

"No, of course not." he assures "The one cake we gave my father was the best of the several we tried. The first two exploded and I was banned from the kitchen when the cook came back to discover batter on the ceiling and singed curtains." he explains

John and Mrs. Hudson succumb to giggles at his story. He surveys their laughter-bent forms with an upraised eyebrow, waiting for their giggles to subside.

"And you've never tried again?" John manages once he'd stopped laughing and caught his breath.

"I saw no reason to." Sherlock answers with a shrug.

"Right, well you've got reason to now." John says, handing Sherlock a knife.

"And what reason would that be?" he challenges.

John tosses him a grin and answers "Because I told you to. Now. Chop. "

Sherlock smirks and tosses back "Pulling out the Captain's voice are we?" whilst twirling the knife casually in his hand.

"Well you've never refused it yet." John answers, his grin growing smug.

"Oh my..." Mrs. Hudson murmurs as Sherlock narrows his eyes at that.

"Besides if you give us a hand then we can get this done sooner." John tags on, when Sherlock makes no move to do anything with the knife other than toss it about.

"Meaning I get rid of the din and am once again able to experiment?"

"Exactly."

Sherlock gives a shrug of acquiescence and grabs the bag of nuts, pulls out a board and begins to chop.

Getting it done sooner turned out to be an hour and a half later. Well, the baked goods really only took about twenty minutes to finish up, then it was just a matter of waiting for them to bake.

As they are putting dishes in the sink and placing the ingredients in the pantry John catches sight of Sherlock, with a flour covered shirt and attempts to sneak a picture of it on his phone.

Sherlock catches him however and throws a handful of flour at him, so the picture comes out as a white cloud with a faint hand in the background. John responds by enthusiastically chucking a handful of nuts at Sherlock, which he easily ducks away from, causing them to rain down on Mrs. Hudson instead.

She lets out an indignant squeal and grabs what is nearest at hand, which happens to be and egg and tosses it back hitting him squarely in the chest. As the egg cracks and the yolk begins to soak into his jumper all hell breaks loose.

Nuts, sugar, flour and spices go flying through the air in all directions, landing on everyone. They throw madly, laughing and ducking behind the table for cover.

Something or someone knocks against Sherlock's chemistry set which had been moved from its place on the table to a safe area on the counter and a beaker clatters to the floor, shattering upon impact.

This sound breaks through the chaos, bringing everyone back to their senses and they surveyed the damage. After a moment Sherlock comments "Yes, this is about what the kitchen looked like after I was done with it last time."

Once again Mrs. Hudson and John break into laughter. "Perhaps I should consider a career change and become a stand-up comedian. Everything I say today seems to solicit laughter." Sherlock deadpans.

S-Sorry - Sher - Sherlock." John manages between breaths of laughter, looking anything but sorry.

"I suppose we should start cleaning?" Mrs. Hudson suggests when the laughter has died away and John nods. Just as they've begun trying to sort out the mess, the shrill ring of the doorbell beckons from below.

Surveying the flour and egg covered John and the sugar and chocolate covered Sherlock Mrs. Hudson offers "Perhaps I should answer it dears." They nod and continue cleaning silently as she dusts herself off, then descends the stairs.

"Oh, Hello Mrs. Hudson. The boys in?" they hear Lestrade inquire from downstairs.

John lets out a quite groan and mutters "Hopefully Mrs. Hudson invites him into her flat instead." Sherlock glances over the kitchen and murmurs in agreement.

No such luck of course and soon enough Lestrade's footsteps are sounding rhythmically as he quickly ascended the stairs. They stop quite suddenly though at the doorway and their silence reflects the blatant surprise on his face.

"Case?" Sherlock inquires, not turning to face him and instead collecting glass from the floor.

"What happened?" Lestrade asks as he wanders slowly into the kitchen and surveys the scene, ignoring Sherlock's question.

"Baking." John answers with a bright smile as he removes a freshly done batch of scones from the oven and sets it atop the stove.

"Did something explode?" he asks, gesturing to the mess

"No." Sherlock answers coolly.

"Uh – Okay then." Lestrade answers, still confused. He decides to drop it though and says "We've got something for you, if you've got a free minute."

"Of course." Sherlock answers as he dumps the trash shards in the bin. He dusts off his shirt, scattering a white puff of flour onto the flour as he inquires "What is it?"

Lestrade holds up a file in answer saying "Just need you to look over these photos and tell me which location is most likely for a body dump. We've got tips on all three in that new murder case."

"Oh, you mean the one you refuse to officially consult me on?" Sherlock counters.

Lestrade rolls his eyes and answers in exasperation "Look, I told you we've got it in hand. We almost have this guy. Besides we need to solve some cases without your help, otherwise we'll look useless."

Sherlock opens his mouth for a sharp retort but he's cut off by John saying "Sherlock, don't."

"You've no idea what I was going to say." Sherlock argues.

John levels him with a look. "Something rude and unnecessary as usual." He retorts and Sherlock shrugs in agreement.

"Please?" Lestrade insists and Sherlock concedes with a nod.

He snatches the file from Lestrade, wanders into the living room and collapses heavily on the couch as he scans the photographs.

John wipes down the cabinets with a rag whilst Lestrade hangs in the doorway, waiting for Sherlock's answer.

After about five minutes Sherlock stands and hands him a photo of a forested roadside area. "Check here, probably several yards into the tree-line." He says, with a bored tone.

"Thanks. If you're right I promise to bring you in on the next murder." Lestrade says with a grin and Sherlock answers with a dismissive wave.

Lestrade leaves, shouting extra thanks over his shoulder as he goes.

Mrs. Hudson returns when he's gone and the three of them continue cleaning. Eventually everything is in order and a dozen scones and several dozen biscuits are cooling on racks. Mrs. Hudson fills a plate with both and takes it back to her flat.

John brings two freshly brewed mugs of tea into the living room. He sets one down by Sherlock's lounging figure on the couch and eases into his chair, holding the other. He lets out a satisfied sigh as he takes a sip, before turning to Sherlock with a smile.

"I know that you've probably got no idea what you did for Mrs. Hudson today, but I want to thank you anyway."

Sherlock is roused from his trance by John's words and he shoots him a curious look. "Mrs. Hudson mentioned that you used to bake with your grandmother. This is not possible however as one died giving birth to your father and the other died in a car crash when you were four. You lied to her." Sherlock stated, clearly wanting answers.

"Yeah." John admits, looking slightly guilty.

"Why?" Sherlock prompts when John doesn't continue.

"Well you know today is her brother's birthday right?" he starts

"Her brother is dead. He was murdered seven years ago by her husband." Sherlock argues.

John nods saying "I know that. But today would've been his birthday. His sixtieth according to Mrs. Hudson."

"What does that have to do with you lying about your grandmother?" Sherlock cuts in impatiently.

"I'm getting to that." John retorts. Sherlock spreads his palms wide, gesturing for him to continue.

"Well I went down to give her the rent check and she was just very quiet and – well ..._sad_." John explains and Sherlock rolled his eyes at his simplistic adjective choices.

"I tried to cheer her up by staying down there for a bit and eventually got the story behind her upset. Well I couldn't just leave her down there so I invited her up to the flat."

"The grandmother and baking John." Sherlock prompts.

"I'm getting there! But I've gotta give the back-story first." Sherlock responds with an impatient huff.

"Anyway she refused, thinking I just felt sorry for her. So I had to make up a story about baking with my grandmother, knowing she'd step in and offer to come up and bake with me. It was a good distraction for her. Then when you came in and started helping and the food fight, and well it just rounded everything off perfectly." He explains, watching for Sherlock's reaction.

Sherlock shoots him a disbelieving look.

"What?" John inquires at his expression.

"That doesn't make any sense at all." Sherlock argues.

"What do you mean it doesn't make sense?" John inquires, incredulously.

"Well first off, why would she refuse your offer to come up the first time then take it up on the second?" Sherlock questions.

"I told you, when I offered at first she thought I pitied her. Mrs. Hudson's got pride Sherlock and my offer ruffled her pride." John explains.

"So what was different about you second offer?" Sherlock tosses back.

"That's just the thing. I made it seem like it was her idea. Mrs. Hudson likes helping people, likes to feel as though she's taking care of them. I mentioned wanting to bake and lied about my grandmother so that she would think _I_ was the one who needed cheering."

Sherlock is silent for a moment before murmuring "Clever."

"Did I hear you right?" John asks disbelievingly. "Did you just say I was _clever_? Can I get that in writing?"

Sherlock shoots him a glare and clarifies "I meant your technique of emotional manipulation. I might need to consult you for some of our cases on that. I've mastered certain elements, primarily emotions surrounding anger and lust, but you're knowledge might also come in handy."

John shakes his head firmly. "No way. The last thing I'm going to do is make you _more_ manipulative than you already are."

"But John-" Sherlock begins in protest.

"No." he insists.

Sherlock tosses a pillow at him in irritation. John catches it easily and tosses it back at him with a laugh. It bounces lightly off of him and lands upon the floor.

"Please?" he tries once more after a moment of silence.

John chuckles as he answers "Nope."

Sherlock responds with a huff and flips onto his side, back facing John. John watches his sulking figure for a moment before letting out a sigh.

He stands and prods Sherlock with a finger. "Budge over." He says, but Sherlock remains stationary. "Come on, move. I want to sit down and read."

"You have a chair." comes Sherlock's muffled argument

John rolls his eyes and answers "I know that. But I want to sit with _you_ and read."

Sherlock doesn't respond, but curls into a tight ball, allowing room for John at the end of the couch. John takes a seat and smiles when Sherlock unfurls his feet and lays them across his lap. He allows himself to get lost in his book whilst Sherlock mutters to himself as he sorts through his Mind Palace.

**If convenient please review; if inconvenient review anyway.**

**KP**


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